


Under these Circumstances

by ultimatebara



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Character Death, Death Row, M/M, Serial Killer!Jack, fka twigs is such an inspiration, please watch video girl clip!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 04:07:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12903681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultimatebara/pseuds/ultimatebara
Summary: Would a serial killer's beloved stop loving him after the discovery of their partner's true self?Rhys couldn't bring himself to it even if he wanted.





	Under these Circumstances

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry about the summary, but I hope you guys like the fic!  
> It's best to read while listening to FKA Twigs' Video Girl!

 

The glass separating both rooms reflected himself as his eyes drilled into his own image, showing a man with dark circles under his eyes and a dishevelled hair. The small pendant on his neck shone with each breath. He should have taken that off since the day he got the news, but he couldn’t get to it.

He thought about the beginning of the day. When he opened his eyes, woken up by his alarm and touched his face, breathing deeply as the oncoming events flooded his mind. He had asked for that day off so he could go see Jack, but now, he just wanted it to end as quickly as possible.

He stayed in bed, catatonic, letting his mind clear from the thoughts that haunted him. He had to go see Jack that day and, then, everything would be over. He could do it.

Since Jack’s arrest, Rhys had trouble finding anything exciting or interesting anymore. His brother, Vaughn, took him to a therapist so he could talk about the experience and receive professional help for such a trauma. The doctor – a serious woman with half her face scarred and going by the name Helena - would say it was part of the process of recuperation. She said that the broken things needed fixing and Rhys had to try to keep on going with his life or he would fall into clinical depression.

Rhys would look to the doctor and think how and why life had to be so different for everyone. How did she get to sit on the advice end while he sat on the suffering one, thinking too much about things that wouldn’t change and on the outcome of what had happened. He wanted to tell her that maybe should be better to change therapists because her scar reminded him of Jack’s scar.

Instead, Rhys told her that sleeping was more of a challenge since the day of Jack’s arrest, so she prescribed pills for sleepless nights. He told her how he didn’t feel the need to eat and the thoughts that filled up his mind, taking his self from himself. Therefore, she prescribed anxiety pills. Rhys told her how he thought that every part of their house would have a body hidden.

She recommended moving out, and so he did.

Getting rid of Jack’s belongings wasn’t the hard part. Rhys had piles of mail and endless calls on a turned off phone, from people who loved Jack and wanted to know more about him, to own his belongings. Serial killer’s groupies contacted Rhys almost every day, trying to get anything minimal from him. He didn’t understand how people got the ways to contact him, but they did and they were insatiable.

The reporters called too. They wanted to know more about the “casual life” of the _Strangler_ – the name the media gave Jack - and they bothered Rhys to borderline assault. The questions were invasive and Rhys understood why reporters had the Vulture fame. One of them, once, asked if he helped on the disposal of the bodies. He was advised not to punch any one anymore.

He was tired of seeing Jack’s face on the news or on the internet. People talking about the numerous victims – 17 people – that had their lives taken away by motives not well explained. Psychiatrist records Rhys wasn’t aware existed, appeared on every news channel, talking about the danger of mentally ill people and how they should be kept under strict surveillance.

Rhys began to feel guilty for not knowing, for not noticing that Jack was hiding something from him. They lived together, shared a roof over their heads, _shared a bed_ , for god’s sake.

The earliest victim, the oldest body they could trace to Jack’s doing was of a twenty-seven years old woman. From two years ago.

They have been dating for almost three years and Rhys began to think that maybe it was him that caused something in Jack to flip and make him start to kill. Dr Pierce said it was misplaced guilt and that he needed to understand that Jack had been troublesome, as the released reports stated, since his teenage years and Rhys could have done nothing to appease the wave that was Jack Lawrence.

The police was not so bad in his opinion. They asked what was necessary and turned his place upside down looking for anything more about his boyfriend’s crimes. They weren’t like the reporters that shoved their mics and cell phones on his face to record even the change in his breathing as they crudely asked if Rhys did know that his boyfriend was a serial killer. If he knew and was just hiding him.

He would not move from his place on the couch, trying to think about anything that was not dozens of police officers roaming around in his house, looking for _evidences_.

They took Jack’s notebooks, computer and other stuff from his office. Rhys ended up on the kitchen, heating a kettle of water, focused on the way the blue flames touched the bottom of the kettle.

He made himself tea and stayed on the kitchen, looking at the mug between his hands and listening to the cops talking about his boyfriend, about the things his boyfriend did, about the people his boyfriend _murdered_.

Rhys felt relief when he heard that Jack didn’t seem to have any “trophy” from his victims. He knew that the majority of serial killers would stay with something from their victims; anything could be a trophy, could be as simple as a ring or as gruesome as a severed breast.

Rhys closed his eyes as his mind took him to a week before, when, a while after dinner, dishes cleaned and both of them laying on the couch, watching TV. Jack kissed his head and said he had a surprise for him, which made Rhys get from his place against Jack’s chest and look at him expectantly.

He watched as Jack got up and walked to their bedroom, coming back with a small velvet box. Rhys’ eyes widened as he thought about the price of the gift and started to refuse, but Jack assured him it wasn’t too expensive.

“For you, anything is priceless, cupcake.”

A silver necklace with a waxing moon pointing down. It became his favourite necklace and he usually wore it. He didn’t know if it was from a store or from one the victims; the simple idea of wearing something from someone Jack killed was too bizarre to him.

He just noticed what he did, when the necklace was already hidden under the turtleneck.

 

The worst people to deal with were the religious ones. After Jack’s arrest, the neighbourhood turned its back on him and some people would spit at his sight. One time, an old lady knocked on his door and handed him a pamphlet about the church meetings on Wednesdays’ nights and that he would be welcomed there to, quote unquote, “ _free yourself from the devil that ruled your life alongside that killer faggot”_.

Rhys crumpled the pamphlet and threw it at the woman, asking her to _please, go fuck yourself_ and closed the door. A few days from there, his house had the front lawn thrashed with burning garbage and the words _faggot_ and _murderer fucker_ painted on it.

At his new home – a small apartment far away from that neighbourhood - Rhys would prefer on staying in bed, looking at the ceiling and thinking that, maybe, just maybe, everything was just a nightmare. That he would wake up beside Jack, and they would have breakfast together, watching the news as they usually did. They would lay on the couch and enjoy each other’s company as the day went by, talking or sharing sweet words against each other’s lips.

However, he was living pure and simple reality.

 

Rhys saw Jack again, two days later, holding a phone against his ear and looking at his boyfriend behind a glass. Jack copied him, looking into his eyes as they both held the phones and said nothing.

Jack’s eyes were the most beautiful things Rhys had ever seen in a long time. Gorgeous big heterochromatic eyes. He would remember the green and blue looking at him in a fond way after they had sex or cooked together. The way Jack would have a dumb expression on his face while looking at Rhys and he would chuckle shyly, trying to ignore the warmth that spread on his chest and face.

He remembered the first time Jack told him he had an artificial eye. They were out on a date, one of the firsts. They had gone to a party and got mild drunk between friends, mini-sausages and deafening music. After the party, laughing and walking arms entwined, they decided on eat something before going home.

The dinner had a weird green lightening, and Jack was talking to him while they waited for their food as the night approached two in the mourning. Rhys had his head rested on his hand, the other hand messing with his own brown locks as he hummed to the tune of the background music of the place. Jack sat across him, arms on the back of the booth and head lolled to the side, seeming as if he had dozed off and was now sleeping.

No sleeping person would talk that much. Rhys wasn’t paying attention until Jack kicked him under the table and Rhys opened his eyes with laziness. The tiredness due to too much dancing and sleep due to the drinking was catching up to him and he was barely sure where they were. Jack tilted his head to the side and leaned on the table, crossing his arms there, a small smile followed by a frown.

“I wish I had two eyes to see your face, Rhysie.”

Rhys lifted an eyebrow and his head felt a bit too heavy on his hand.

“You have two eyes, Jack. They’re right there.” He pointed a finger at Jack without moving his hand from under his cheek “And they’re beautiful and dumb.” He confessed and laid his head on his arms over the table.

“This one is fake, babe.” He reached for his left eye’s eyelids – the green one – and pushed them away, opening his eye so Rhys could see that it was a prosthetic.

Rhys looked up and leaned in, frowning and trying to discern the eyes. His vision blurred a bit and he gave up, leaning in and landing a kiss on Jack’s lips, chuckling.

“They’re exactly the same to me.” He confessed and Jack nodded, reaching for the brunette’s hand over the table “So you can’t see on your left?” Jack smirked and Rhys blinked quickly a few times, “You drive!”

“I can still drive, babe. It’s on my licence.” He yawned and shrugged, drawing small circles on Rhys’ hand “I just don’t see like I used to. Like, sometimes, I imagine what would be like to see you with both eyes.” He scratched his head and Rhys tilted his own.

He was a bit dizzy, but he thought about the times he spent with Jack. He could recall some moments when Jack had an awkward way to do things and how he teased him. For example, Jack would miss the doorknob sometimes or turn his head in an awkward angle to cross the street.

The brunette thought that was odd that the idea of Jack’s left eye being artificial never crossed his mind. The deep scar on the other’s face passed over the green eye, giving Jack a lazy eye, and maybe Rhys could have thought that Jack was lucky to still have both his eyes intact, but the feeling of surprise and distraction easily went away.

Rhys smiled and leaned in again, kissing the other’s cheek.

“I think 3D me would be too much for you.” He teased and the other laughed, nodding and reached for his face, kissing his lips in a lazy fashion.

He knew there would be no more shared words, no more dumb expressions followed by passionate kisses or secretively laughs while they flirted with each other.

Rhys’s eyes watered and Jack flinched, but did nothing.

“How could you, Jack?” he shed some tears and sniffed, but held the other’s gaze.

Jack didn’t answer.

Rhys put his hand over his face and let some tears wet his palm, his body shaking with each controlled sob. He sniffed and wiped his face with the back of his hand before looking at Jack again, eyes red.

“What did they tell you?” he asked with too much saliva on his mouth.

Jack rested his back on the chair and looked to the side, scratching his nose, sighing deeply. His features showed how tired he was.

“My trial is three months from here, so, it’s not gonna take too long.” He crossed his arms the way he could and looked at his boyfriend’s face.

Rhys’ puffy eyes held too much pain and he tried to distract himself by looking at the other’s scar. The textured skin cutting Jack’s face in sections, going over his left eye, making the eyelid drop over the green iris.

“Will you go?” he asked in a whisper and Rhys nodded, adjusting the phone on his hand. He passed a hand over his face and sighed, closing his eyes from a while.

His head pounded on the back, the beginning of a headache. He looked at Jack again, meeting the mismatched eyes.

“Are they treating you well in there?”

Jack scoffed.

“I decked a guy in the shower.”

Rhys chuckled and leaned back, letting the smile rest on his lips, feeling the tingle that only joy could bring. His chest tightened and his eyes watered again, but he held it in.

“Already showing who’s boss, hn.”

Jack’s eyes brightened and he shifted on the chair, letting a smirk appear on his lips. Rhys asked himself how many times he kissed those lips. How many times had he smiled to Jack after he killed someone?

 

During those months, he visited Jack every weekend. He wanted to see him every day, but the trip to the facility was almost forty minutes from the city and he only had an hour for lunch. They would sit in front of that stained glass and talk through the phone. Rhys updated Jack on daily politics as the other loved those and Jack would tell him about the other inmates.

“I’m leading a gang, Rhys. We’re getting this close to kill every pedo in here.”

And he believed him. Now that he was in prison, he talked about murder as if talking about the chances of raining or as if deciding if he would do a morning jog or no. The first weekend in which he visited Jack, he said he convinced a guy to kill himself. A convicted homophobic sex offender.

Rhys would smile and nod, receiving the information given to him. He decided on not dwell on those confessions, just trying to spend the most he could with his boyfriend. They had a small window to talk and, sometimes, nearing the end of their meeting, they would just look at each other and drown in warm emotions divided by a thick glass.

They didn’t talk about the murders or why Jack did what he did. The officers called Rhys and asked him if he wanted to know more about the case and the motives and Rhys would thank them for their worry, but declined. He wanted the victim’s families to be all right, the bodies buried, and nothing else.

Maybe, like that, he could pretend that was just a nightmare.

After three months and two days of waiting, they found themselves on court. Jack’s hands handcuffed in front of him, the orange jumpsuit fitting his broad shoulders and the hair brushed to perfection. His eyes hard, staring in front of him, showing nothing but acceptance.

Rhys was sitting behind him, hands squeezing each other and heart beating fast against his ribcage. He tried to concentrate on the way the grey streaks were deepening on Jack’s temples, how the orange suited him well, but he would prefer to wear yellow.

He remembered the scars on the other’s back and the story each one had.

“My grandma beat the shit out of me with an old buzz axe. She built it to cut some trees, but when it stopped working, got blunt and shit. She started to use it on me when I went to live with her.”

A though childhood could have turned Jack into a killer?

He paid attention again as the judge spoke.

Commotion began and Jack looked behind him, giving Rhys a tired look.

Rhys’ eyes widened and his heart felt heavy, beating with force inside his chest, hurting with each beat. His eyes watered and tears streamed down his cheeks as the officer touched Jack’s shoulder to lead him outside.

Jack was on the death row.

Suddenly, he saw himself passing through the small doors and running to Jack. People were talking loudly and the judge kept hitting the hammer as Rhys hugged Jack’s neck and sobbed. He could feel the other trying to manoeuvre his arms so he could give Rhys some type of comfort, but he had his hands handcuffed and the only thing he could do was lay a small kiss on the other’s neck.

Rhys felt the officer start to pull Jack from him, his own brother calling his name. He let go enough to touch the other’s face and hold it in place as he kissed Jack. He could hear some gasps, but didn’t mind. Jack’s hands touched his face as their foreheads met.

“I love you, I love you…,” he whispered and the officer yanked Jack from him. Rhys put his hands over his mouth and sobbed harder, watching as Jack left to the other room.

 

 

Rhys hands rested on his lap as he looked at the glass. His chest was hurting, making it hard to breath, but he couldn’t care less. His eyes started to rise from his lap as a single red light lit above the glass. He summed up his courage and raised his head, seeing the officers take Jack into the small room.

They held him in front of the glass as their eyes met. He wanted to get up and walk there, but he felt rooted to the chair.

Jack held Rhys’ gaze and pulled his arm from one of the guards, looking at him with irritation, but the guard ignored and squeezed his arm again, pulling him near. Jack hated being manhandled.

Behind the three – Jack and the two guards – there was a padded table settled vertically with adjacent pieces for both arms. The doctors were a few steps behind that table, setting everything up and the only thing Rhys could think of was Jack’s eyes looking straight at him. The words pouring from his those eyes, telling him that he was sorry for making Rhys go through it all, but that he would do it again if he could.

He would miss those exchanged stares.

They put his back to the table and the straps rounded his wrists, bounding him firmly as the table was set in a horizontal position. Rhys saw the chains that restrained the other’s ankles and the need to cry came back. The reality was almost settling in and his eyes stung, signalizing the beginning of a crying fit.

He noticed that Jack’s chest began to rise and fall in a weird rhythm, and had to lower his head as Jack decided on trash on the table. The fear must have settle in, finally.

Jack was not afraid of death, but he was afraid of uncertainty.

He confessed to Rhys, once, about his dreams and goals in life. He mentioned the things he wanted to build and the empire he would make to both of them. Rhys would encourage him and take mugs of coffee to his office on the nights he stayed up late, typing furiously on the keyboard, forgetting to eat.

Those dreams, those sleepless nights meant nothing in the end.

Rhys looked up again and saw Jack laid down, guards finished tightening the straps and the doctors replaced them, putting the IV on Jack’s left arm. His fingertips tingled and he knew that was the wanting, the longing to touch his boyfriend again; for the last time while he could still feel something.

He balled his fists, putting them against his stomach and let the fat tears roll down his cheeks. He got up and walked to the glass that divided the rooms. He didn’t sob as one of the doctors pulled the anaesthetic onto the syringe and attached to the thin hose.

He held in a gasp, trembling, as the liquid was injected in Jack. He saw the other’s head bob a bit to the side and then to the other, his breathing becoming calm, his feet lax.

Rhys brought his hands near his mouth, pressing the thumb over his lips, feeling a bit of snot. His cheeks burned alongside his eyes, the tears dripping from his chin.

The first sob escaped when Jack, with a lot of difficulty, raised his head to give Rhys a last look and a small smile. The type of smile that showed a bit of teeth as his lips formed the words _I love you_ before Jack’s head fell back down and his whole body seemed to relax.

Rhys sniffed and put one hand on the glass, covering his broken sobs with the other. One of the doctors had his eyes focused on his wristwatch and, after a while, tried to fell Jack’s pulse. He looked to the other and said something under the mask as the other doctor wrote on a clipboard.

His vision blurred.

Time of death.

 

 

He was in a catatonic state again. Hands firmly holding Jack’s cold one, as he didn’t even blink. The morgue was cold and sterile, fluorescent light buzzing above him.

Jack looked peaceful and he could still feel the last remnants of heat. Perhaps, he was imagining it.

Rhys touched the other’s hair and brushed back the soft locks, letting memories flood his mind. The grey streaks he teased Jack about, the scar they worked for so long for Jack to accept and see he was still handsome with it marking most of his face, the soul patch Rhys hated, but couldn’t imagine Jack without it.

He let a small smile appear on his lips as he leaned over and touched Jack’s hair with love, closing his eyes as he landed a small kiss on the corpse’s forehead.

His throat tightened and he held in the tears that threatened to fall again.

“I love you.”

He loved Jack and thus he hated himself.

Rhys straightened his back and sniffed, watching as the mortician covered Jack’s face and pushed the body back to the drawer. He had to go through the bureaucracy of Jack’s cremation and prepare himself for the sea of reporters outside the place and in front of his apartment.

With stingy eyes, Rhys looked the last time to the small door to Jack’s temporary coffin. He touched the necklace around his neck, not caring if anyone would see, if it were from any of the victims, if it belonged to a body nobody would found.

He took the pendant to his lips and kissed it softly, putting it against his chest again. He took a deep breath and turned around, seeing the mortician waiting for him at the double door, so he could lead him to the secretary.

The doors closed behind them.

**Author's Note:**

> I had this idea while watching FKA Twigs' Video Girl videoclip!! Her music influences my writing in a lot of ways!  
> While writing this, I only wanted to write the whole scenario of Jack being arrested for being a serial killer and Rhys watching his execution, but then I started to think about the wives/husbands of serial killers and what they could have gone through after the arrest of their partners. And from that, this fic came to life!  
> You can check out the small piece I did for this on my Twitter @ultimmatebara !  
> I hope you all have enjoyed the reading! <3


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